Chrysalism
by Alien-Ariel
Summary: "What are you doing here? You're not my friend," Shane tried to be as gruff and unlikable as possible. "Yeah actually, I think I'm your cousin's friend?" She replied so haphazardly that it wasn't even a rebuttal, but a question. What. How had Jas befriended the only person in Pelican Town as antisocial as him? And why did he feel the need to be so righteously indignant?
1. Just Another Monday

Every day was Monday in Pelican Town.

It wasn't that this place was Hell, where Shane was forced to relive the same horror of his dead-end job and crippling self-loathing (he was well aware that no one was forcing this reality on him). It wasn't even some thrilling freak of science, where an entire town managed to isolate itself from the outside world to forget any passage of time.

No, Pelican Town was neither cursed, nor miraculous. Neither terrible nor stunning.

It just was.

And Shane had come to terms with the vast sense of tedium that seemed to be the main export of the place he now reluctantly labelled "home." Even then, "home" was more of a word than a feeling to Shane. Home meant belonging.

Shane simply existed.

And then she moved in, like a plot hook out of a stupid movie. No reason, no explanation: she just appeared out of nothing. Stupid. Why? Shane was more interested in finding a reason than he was in the newcomer herself; but he was apparently alone in that.

Ask anyone but him, and people would hint at something grand being just on the horizon.

She'd come barreling into town on the Zuzu City Metro, crashing through the cosmic boredom permeating the town like a veritable wrecking ball. Everyone was expecting the bubble around the town to shatter, letting in some cleansing wave of the outside world: revolution, novelty, maybe even some culture? An alteration to the daily in some way, any way, at least. People were expecting change.

What they got was Sawyer: the granddaughter of Underhill Farm's original owner, with about as much personability as one should probably assume from a person who naively ran from their life on a whim to try their hand at that whole nature thing. She was practical and insular, hardly ever leaving her overgrown plot of land, save but to purchase seeds and run errands from the job board. Solitary and wholly uninterested in befriending an entire town of yokels, she never stuck around longer than she needed to.

She was so articulate in her social apathy that Shane was amazed anyone had ever gotten their hopes up; but maybe her intentions weren't as obvious to them as they were to him. He recognized the behavior.

That didn't make him feel any kinship with the farmer, though. He didn't really bother to feel anything about her. And sparing her a thought at all was more of an annoyance in his mind than anything.

Shane was probably the only one in town not disappointed by about mid-Spring, several weeks after the farmer had settled in the crusty hilltop cabin north of his Aunt's ranch. Many had gossiped around the town, especially after hours in the Stardrop Saloon, where Shane spent the majority of his spare money and all his free time. Usually he tried his best to stay uninformed of the town happenings, lest he be expected to give a shit and chime in when someone tried to engage.

But there was something different happening tonight: he couldn't really hear that note of hopefulness or wonder in people's voices when mentioning the farmer. Any gossip he overheard was tinged with the obvious stain of normalcy: she was old news now.

Nothing had changed. The town had been charged with expectation for something less than three weeks before finally resigning to its usual equilibrium. Shane felt both smug and somehow let down at this revelation. Well that was fucking frustrating; the whole point was that he didn't care.

Shane ordered himself a beer beyond his limit at this thought, trying to quash whatever the fuck that was by telling himself he deserved another drink for being so perceptive. He'd drink to guessing, correctly, just how little Pelican Town's newest resident would shake things up.

Gus slid him a pint, no longer making eye contact, and Shane downed his beer with three quick chugs, head tilted back so far that he saw stars when he slammed his chin back down against his chest. From this position, head making that slow and revolving sensation behind his eyes, he could smell suds running down his chin to mingle with the fibers of his dirty collar.

He probably shouldn't have done that.

And then, as if he'd summoned her out of the fucking aether, Sawyer was standing in the doorframe to the Stardrop.

 _Oh fuck off,_ Shane thought to himself as the kid lingered there for a moment longer than most would. His head lolled to the side, away from the fireplace that was now making him uncomfortably warm; he couldn't do much more than that to escape.

She'd lingered but then immediately shot off in the direction of Pam, who was at her usual station (the spot on the bar closest to the taps of "the good stuff," her words). Her jolt of momentum carried her right up to the middle-aged woman, and which point she jutted an arm forward with an insistence bordering on total social unawareness.

"Pam, I forgot your birthday!" The farmer, whom most people haven't even bothered to look up at, had an astoundingly candid tone to her voice, "I am so sorry. These just came in today and I want you to have one."

There in her uncomfortable grip, Shane could see a delicate and pale parsnip, totally unharmed and seemingly perfect. What the actual fuck? Who would want a parsnip for a belated birthday present? Where was this girl from, Shane let his mind ask despite being able to come up with the answer right away.

What he saw next sobered him up: Pam had tears in her eyes as she gingerly accepted the vegetable, like it was some precious artifact. He couldn't hear Pam across the bar for the first time since he'd moved to town, but she was mouthing something obviously appreciative to Sawyer, who looked on like she hadn't even known what her gift would mean.

Seriously. How even.

Had she seriously just stumbled upon (apparently) the most meaningful gift in the world to Pam? And for that fucking matter, why was the farmer even putting forth the effort? What was Pam to her?

Why did he care?

Across the bar, Sawyer stood dumbstruck in front of Pam, who had treated the gift of a parsnip like it was the most important thing she'd ever received; she didn't really know what to do now. She hadn't known that birthdays were this meaningful to the residents of Pelican Town. Like, sure, birthday presents are great, but this great? This significant?

In that moment, Sawyer was struck with an incredible guilt over the birthdays she'd already missed. Sure, she still couldn't exactly be bothered to interact with most of the residents, but a simple present on a birthday? A one-day-a-year modicum of interaction? She could at least be doing that.

The shame hit her hard as Pam invited her to sit down and share a drink: her treat.

"Does everyone like parsnips on their birthday?" Sawyer asked Pam after an amicable silence and a few sips of mead. She was out of her element here, but the desire to know more was growing in her mind; she hated to do things wrong, so she figured she should just ask.

Pam just shrugged, commenting that she didn't really know what everybody else liked. Sawyer nodded, ruling out the parsnips-for-everyone idea.

Make it personal, got it.

"Honestly, I'm surprised you remembered my birthday at all," Pam commented through a generous swig of her beer. Sawyer muttered something about checking the communal calendar while searching for more work, "So you know it's his birthday today, then?" Pam responds, pointing a stubby finger across the way to Shane, who had gone back to staring into his empty pint.

"Oh." Sawyer made a noise of no consequence as she mulled a thought over in her head. Yes, she'd seen the post on the calendar, scribbled over the 20th with less care than most other events; that wasn't to say that she had intended to do anything for him.

But now? Eying the woman to her left, Sawyer felt like things were different now.

Not with Shane, fuck no. But just in general. An effort could easily be made.

Buying him a beer was the obvious choice, but as Sawyer unflinchingly looked the man over, it was also obvious that he'd overstepped his limit. She wasn't about to worsen an already piteous situation, so, after waving Gus over to her, Sawyer instead opted for food.

"Send him a pizza, on my tab," Sawyer told the man, who smiled at her in an atypical manner, "He looks like he needs it." She added to his look, which made her squirm like she was being viewed under a microscope. Having her actions scrutinized by Gus made her kind of itchy; he didn't usually try to pry into Sawyer's life.

The fireplace was a lesser problem now for Shane, who had moved past the tummy-warmth stage of drunkenness to the tummy-sick stage. Most people would probably start guzzling water at this point, but Shane was well enough acquainted with alcohol to know precisely when he should be ingesting anything.

Now would be the perfect time for some food, if he hadn't just used the last of his cash on the extra beer. He'd managed to screw his routine up and he hadn't even enjoyed the drink. He'd curse the world if he weren't very acutely aware that he had a habit of doing this to himself. Was he just a glutton for self-induced pain?

But then, for the second time that night, Shane's thoughts seemed to materialize in front of him. A steaming pizza, cheese still bubbling and melting like lava rolling down a mountainside, replaced his empty glass on the bar.

"Eat up, Shane." Gus told him, standing there, glass in hand, until Shane met his eyes.

"I didn't order that." Shane slurred, mentally checking himself to make sure he hadn't somehow unknowingly called out for one. Like how that beautiful concoction of sauce and carbs seemed to be calling to him now. He had taken a slice before Gus could even answer.

"Happy birthday." Was the only explanation Shane received, who stopped mid-bite to look back over the counter.

What.

The farmer, looking exceptionally out of her element, made eye contact with him as cheese dripped onto the floor. She cocked a bit of a smile. Almost.

And then she waved. It was from her. Why.

Openly glaring at her, Shane realized that he'd never before been conflicted about pizza. Fuck her for that.


	2. Happier Without Him

On the morning of the Flower Dance, Shane tried, conversely, to keep his mind on the Egg Festival. He didn't consider himself one for interests. Or hobbies. Or even likes. He ran mostly on quiet irritation and fried-egg sandwiches; which perhaps is why eggs, and chickens, were some of the few things Shane could actually admit he enjoyed.

That said, the Flower Dance was not the Egg Festival. What's worse is that the Flower Dance came after the Egg Festival, and now Shane had nothing to look forward to until next spring when it would come around again.

That, or maybe autumn. He liked pumpkin ale.

His thoughts were spiraling again.

Just get through the day, Shane.

Plenty of time to bemoan his life later. Preferably with a cold pint in his hands.

Pulling fretfully at the collar of his starchy dress shirt, Shane tried to walk as slowly as he could through CIndersnap forest. Not an easy task, considering that Jas was using all her power to drag him along by his other hand; small for an eight-year-old, Jas was summoning forth all her spunk to get him moving.

"Stop fussing, Shane," Marnie said from behind him, rushing to catch up after remaining at the ranch a few minutes longer to get ready. Shane noticed that her hair looked a little smoother, her braid crafted with a bit more care than usual; had she applied some blush as well?

"What's with the makeup?" Shane asked offhandedly, which immediately brought a look of awkwardness to his aunt's eyes.

"Well, we've all got to look out best for the Flower Dance!" She replied with false pretense, which might fool anyone less discerning than Shane. Marnie made a show of taking Jas's hand to walk slightly ahead of him.

"Never know who might be watching." He quipped a little callously; his aunt didn't hide her interest in the town's mayor, Lewis, as well as she thought.

Getting a rise out of people made to quiet his own nerves, but perhaps he should have reserved it for another. The look on his aunt's face, all humiliation and hot embarrassment, promptly rebounded back on him and made his stomach tighten into painful knots.

Shane slowed his gait once more as Marnie pulled Jas ahead, the latter skipping in her gaudy festival dress, seemingly oblivious to anything having just transpired. Best to let them go enjoy themselves, far away from the trainwreck that he was.

Sighing in a way that was more of a growl, Shane ran a hand through his dark hair, nails digging just a little too hard against his scalp. Just enough to hurt.

The only thing Shane was good for was fucking things up.

Look at him go.

Despite his best efforts to will the world to progress past him, Shane's plodding footsteps did eventually lead him to the forest clearing. The cheerfully bright decorations and sickly-sweet smell of fresh flowers only served to dampen his already surly mood.

Surly? No, that was his everyday demeanor.

Today was more of a sullen day. Or morose.

The kind of upset that comes from knowing he'd just wounded someone he actually gave a shit about.

Gazing listlessly across the clearing, Shane noticed Marnie and Jas dancing together to the banal, annoyingly pleasant music. They looked happy in that moment. And, rather than consider that he hadn't actually hurt her feelings all that badly, the dark place in his mind told Shane that they'd be just as happy, if not more so, were he not part of their lives at all.

 _They'd survive just fine without you_ , that part of his brain whispered disarmingly.

When had he gotten to the buffet?

Shane looked across the spread of foods and drinks, immediately grabbing a cup of the alcoholic punch set aside for the adults and a massive serving of bruschetta. As he was shoveling the snack into his uncomfortably dry mouth, trying very hard to distract himself, Shane noticed someone hovering beside him in the corner of his vision.

Oh wait, the sauce mixed in with the garlic was actually pretty spicy. Normally heat didn't bother Shane, but when you're not expecting it, spicy foods could sneak up on you.

"Ow." Shane intonated to no one as he hastened to swallow and take a huge gulp of his punch.

Was someone giggling at him?

Turning, with a look more quizzical than irritated, Shane saw Sawyer the farmer standing just to his side at the buffet. There wasn't anyone else around and she was very obviously covering her mouth and glancing at him.

"You always laugh at people in pain?" He asked gruffly, gifting her with a decidedly hateful glare.

"Only when it's other people's pain." She replied coolly, in what was probably meant to be a joke but sounded more like the confession of a sadist. Perhaps she realized this, because a hand quickly came to knock against the side of her forehead, "That sounds really weird."

What was up with her? She was being uncharacteristically sociable and talkative. Shane glanced to her other hand and found the evidence he was looking for: a red plastic cup obviously more-than-full of alcohol. Her grip was vicelike.

Shane didn't engage, instead choosing to lift his own cup and continue to drink. If he was really going to have to dance today (Marnie had made it clear that he wasn't getting out of it like he had last year), he'd need to be much, much drunker to get through this experience.

"Sorry. I'm deeply uncomfortable." Sawyer said after a few select moments of silence, quickly downing her entire cup afterwards.

Shane lifted an eyebrow at both her display and her statement. She was always so candid, never bothering to hide behind any kind of pretext. He realized that the townsfolk would probably really like that about her, should she ever give a shit about interacting with them.

"About dancing?" He couldn't stop himself from probing, noticing that she too was wearing the outfits typical of the town singles. He flexed his toes inside his uncomfortably sweaty formal shoes.

"Fuck, about everything. I have no idea what I'm doing." She replied right away, again with that unnerving honesty. Like she had no hang-ups about sharing exactly what was on her mind, "I think Emily is going to make me dance with her today, so I might as well head her off before she gets herself too worked up about it."

Wait, she actually was looking for a partner? And shit, wasn't he supposed to be paired with Emily?

"Take it easy, man." Sawyer waved casually, maybe a little languid in her movements, and departed to meet Emily.

Shane watched her back as she talked with Emily, who seemed more than a little thrilled (not unusual for her) at whatever they were discussing; but at one point her eyes lit up like fireworks and she crushed the farmer in a horrendously genuine hug.

That seemed to be that, then.

As he stood at the edge of the dance floor, Jas and Vincent doing their own practice flower dance to his right, Shane couldn't help but stare at Emily and Sawyer, the former looking completely in her element, and the latter, to her credit, at least trying to maintain a visage of amusement. As he watched on, the space around him felt so empty and sparse; maybe it was the atmosphere or the alcohol, but, in that moment, Shane finally seemed to admit his loneliness.

And what's worse, as he unwaveringly studied the look on Sawyer's face, a combination of reluctance and actual enjoyment, he realized that had she instead asked him to be her partner, he'd have said yes.


End file.
